Make Pasta, Not War
by ImmortalSpuffy202
Summary: While Italy is staying at Germany's house, he has a mishap with some pasta, and now he thinks Germany hates him! Will both of them sort out their feelings and stay friends, or become even more?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

*A/N Hey everyone! I just started a new fic that I hope you enjoy! This is my first Hetalia fic, so constructive criticism would be great, but no flaming please! I hope you enjoy it. Please read and review! Reviews are what motivate me to finish the next chapter!*

"Marukaite chikyuu. Marukaite chikyuu. Marukaite chikyuu. Boku Hetalia!" Italy had a blinding grin on his face as he sang a tune that he's known for most of his life. He doesn't know where he heard it, but it feels as if it's always been a part of him. Italy giggled as he stirred the sauce he was making.

"Ve! I hope Germany likes my pasta! He's always working, and I don't think he's eaten anything today. Pasta always cheers me up, it's so delicious! I bet Germany will love it!" The Italian bounded around the kitchen, still singing, as he poured his pasta into the boiling water next to the sauce. Italy leaned in close to the pot, taking a deep breath.

"Ve! It smells so good!" His singing had toned down to a continual hum as he dashed around the kitchen, grabbing various things out of the cupboards and slamming them onto the counter, a bit harshly out of excitement. Peering over his shoulder at the pasta, he whipped out his wooden spoon and rushed over to taste his masterpiece.

"Perfetto! All done!" Moving at lightning speed, Italy drained the pasta and grabbed a bowl off the counter. Once he had everything ready, he ran out of the room, heading for Germany's office.

The German was hunched over his desk with a pile of painful looking paperwork in front of him. He sat in silence; the only sound in the room was the rustling of papers whenever he finished checking a document. This went on for a few more minutes until Germany put his pen down on his desk and flipped through the rest of his work, counting how many he still had left to do. Sighing in defeat, he ran his hands through his perfectly slicked back hair.

"I'm never going to finish all of this. I knew I shouldn't have let Italy convince me to play football with him the other day. There's no way I'm turning this in on time." Groaning, Germany picked up his pen and returned to his seemingly never-ending pile of documents. However, the peace and quiet didn't last long. Just when Germany was finding his rhythm, the door to the office burst open with a loud bang.

Startled, the pen flew out of Germany's hand and hit the wall, leaving a small (permanent) black mark. "GERMANY!" Italy screamed, quivering with excitement, the pasta in his hand.

"What the hell do you want Italy?!" Germany yelled back, finally noticing the mark on the wall. "You know not to bother me when I'm working, and look, you ruined my wall when you burst in the room."

"S-sorry." Italy murmured, averting his eyes. He suddenly remembered why he decided it would be a great idea to bother Germany in the middle of the day. I mean, it's better than in the middle of the night. At least, that's how Italy saw it. Brightening at the thought, Italy brandished the pasta bowl out in front of him, waving it around excitedly.

"Ve, I made you some pasta! You haven't had anything to eat the whole day, and you can't work on an empty stomach!"

Germany's eyes softened as his eyes darted between his Italian friend and the pasta balanced precariously in his hand.

"Ja, I guess that is true. Come over here, but don't make a mess. You've already ruined enough for one day." Germany beckoned him over to his desk. Excited that he wasn't going to be scolded too harshly, Italy began to skip over to where the German was sitting. Just as he was about to hand the pasta over, Italy's feet came out from under him. He was on the floor in an instant. The pasta went everywhere, splattering across the room. Italy looked up from his place was on the ground, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. The face that met him was not a happy one. Germany was covered in marinara sauce. Large drops dripped off the end of his nose, and a few stray strands of spaghetti were stuck in his hair. His ocean blue eyes hardened into shards of ice, his face livid. Italy began to cower in fear. He knew he was going to be scolded…again.

"ITALY!" Germany screamed, standing up with such force that the desk chair tipped over violently.

"AHHHHH! I'm sorry! Please! I'll do anything! Don't hit me! It was an accident!" Italy cried, tears spewing from his amber eyes. This was the angriest he'd seen Germany in decades. It was just an accident, he couldn't be that mad, could he?

Germany kept yelling, "I TOLD YOU TO BE CAREFUL, YOU RUINED ALL MY PAPERWORK! NOW I'LL NEVER GET IT IN ON TIME!" He was panting by the end of his sentence, his face still twisted in rage.

Italy looked fearful, "I said I'm sorry. I tripped over my shoelace, see? It came untied." Italy gestured to his feet, his laces everywhere. Germany seemed to calm down a little at this comment. He put his face in his hands and sighed. Italy's heart skipped a beat. The only time Germany ever got quiet like this was when he was too furious for words.

A soft sigh came from the pasta covered German. Italy picked up his head in surprise, hoping that Germany was done yelling.

"I knew it was a bad idea becoming your ally. All you do is cause trouble; I never get a break. You're useless. You can't even tie your own shoes! The only thing you're good for is food, and now you can't even do that right. It's no wonder you don't have any friends, how could anyone stand to be around someone so stupid."

Italy's mouth dropped open in horror. _Germany…thinks I'm stupid? Germany…thinks I'm useless? Germany…regrets becoming my friend?_ The tears that were threatening to fall, suddenly began streaming down his face. His face contorted into a look of pure anguish. It's no use trying to reconcile, why would anyone want to listen to a stupid, useless weakling. Italy picked himself up from the floor, not looking at Germany, tears still sliding down his cheeks.

"I-I'm sorry." He murmured, running out of the office as fast as possible.

"ITALY! WAIT!" Germany desperately called after him. He regretted those words the moment they left his mouth, he didn't really mean any of it. Okay, well some of it was kind of true, but not to that extent. It wasn't even the paperwork that he was upset about. That was part of it, but when Italy tripped, the pasta bowl knocked a picture off of his desk. Germany bent down and picked through the shards of glass on the floor, gently putting the photo back on the desk. It was a photo of himself and Prussia, now slightly covered in pasta sauce. The only one they'd ever taken. It's already been twenty-five years since his dissolution, but it still strikes a chord with Germany. Seeing that the picture was relatively safe, guilt washed over him. He really didn't mean any of that. He valued his friendship with Italy, even if he was basically useless.

Germany was a man of action and discipline, so why did he continue to be friends with someone so whimsical? He could have just kicked him out, or banned him from coming to see him, but he didn't. Why? Why is it that whenever Italy frantically calls, speaking so fast that Germany can barely understand him, he rushes off to his aid? There isn't a logical reason. Germany thought he knew better, but something about the optimistic Italian flips a switch in Germany's mind. Maybe it's his sunny disposition, or his ability to make any situation brighter, or the way he greets Germany with a hug and a kiss, or even his smile. He has a beautiful smile. It can light up the whole room in a split second. Germany's lips turn upward in an unconscious grin. He's a beautiful person overall, not just in his personality. He's got a nice-

"What am I thinking?!" Germany broke out of his thoughts with a yell, a small blush starting to creep down his neck. He buried his face in his hands again, vainly attempting to rid his mind of the image of his best friend.

Best friend? Could he really call him that after what he said to him a few moments ago? Italy probably hates him now. But could he really call what they had friendship in the first place. They weren't really the typical pair, that's for sure. What with all of Italy's quirks, it was kind of impossible. Germany didn't really understand anything about the sunny young man. He was always following him around and clinging to him; giving him hugs and kisses whenever they saw each other; sleeping in the same bed…

Germany's cheeks reddened even further. Why does he feel like this? It doesn't make sense. He just a friend…right? Determined to sort this out, the German jogged out of his office, ready to search for his _friend_.

He would find him, and he would explain. Italy would forgive him, right? That's what he does; he's so sweet and so kind. He would understand that this was all a mistake.

Right?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

*A/N Hey! I'm back! Wow, that was a fast update, lol. This chapter was written in a few hours this evening, so I hope it turned out okay. I have one more chapter planned out for this fic, but I might consider adding more or writing a sequel if anyone requests it. Thanks to everyone who favorited and/or followed this story! I really appreciate it. Please read and review! Many reviews make a happy author!*

The cold rain poured down, whipping Italy harshly as he ran through the dense forest; tears still stinging his eyes and the freezing wind beating at his cheeks. Thoughts rushed through his head as he ran. Everything was numb. _Germany hates me. I always mess everything up._ More tears made tracks on his rain-washed face.

Out of breath, Italy stopped, leaning against a tree for support. _What can I do to make Germany like me again?_ Exhausted, Italy slumped down against a tree, lost in thought. _I'll just have to try harder. I'll do everything Germany tells me to. No complaining, no nothing. I'll be the best friend ever._ Italy sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve. With a stiffened resolve, he got up and began the trek back to Germany's house. Unfortunately, he's gone a long way. _If only I was this fast during training, then maybe Germany would still want to be my friend._ _It's almost time for training anyway. I'll go meet Germany on the training field. He'll be so surprised that I was there before him, then he'll definitely want to be my…friend._

As his resolve stiffened further, Italy dashed towards the training field. It was only a few minutes before he made it, panting from lack of oxygen. Despite all of his hard work, Germany still arrived before him. His arms were crossed and there was a stern look on his face. Apparently, he was completely engrossed in his thoughts, because he didn't even notice Italy's noisy arrival.

"V-Ve Germany, I'm here." He stuttered, still panting. "See? I'm ready for training!" Italy stopped talking when he noticed that Germany wasn't responding. "Ve? Germany? Are you still mad at me? I said I was sorry…" Italy trailed off, realizing that Germany still hadn't answered him.

 _He's still upset. Of course he is; I ruined everything._ Italy's eyes began to glisten, and he looked at the ground pointedly. Germany snapped out of his thoughts with a shake of his head and realized that Italy was standing in front of him.

"Italy…" He began, a bit flustered. He wanted to apologize but didn't know how to say it. Would the small Italian even forgive him?

 _What am I supposed to say? I made him cry; how do I come back from that? We made a promise to protect each other, and I disregarded it completely. How can he trust me anymore? I can't even keep a simple promise. I guess I just have to tell it like it is._

Germany started again, hesitantly, "Ita-" but he was cut off by a stammering Italian.

"Ve, I'm here for training Germany. I came on time, see? Uh…umm…" He didn't know what else to say and stood there awkwardly, eyes fixed on the dirt of the track. He shifted his weight as he waited for Germany to answer. His heart was pounding; what would Germany say? Would he be proud of Italy for being on time? Why won't he answer?! Italy started to fidget out of impatience and fear. Germany looked stunned.

 _Italy won't even look at me. He must be really upset. But…he did come on time, maybe I can start with that, and then apologize._

Germany sighed exasperatedly, "Ja, you did, surprisingly. This never happens. I always have to drag you out of bed half an hour after training starts. What happened? Did you get a personality transplant?" Germany mentally smacked himself.

 _That's not what I meant to say at all! I was trying to sound supportive, I but just ended up sounding sarcastic. Now I have yet another thing to apologize for._

Germany's bright blue eyes hardened as he glared, frustrated with himself. _Why can't I just say what I mean? It's not that complicated; all I have to say is 'I'm sorry for yelling at you. I didn't mean anything I said.' Why can't I just spit it out?!_

While Germany was lost in his thoughts again, Italy began to register what Germany said.

 _…_ _I'm still not good enough for him._ Italy's already glistening eyes began to fill with tears for the second time that day. His little curl began to droop as his mind raced. His mind swirled with memories of every time he caused Germany trouble. There were countless situations. That time when he called Germany from Africa just because he couldn't tie his shoes. That time when he called Germany because he tangled his curl with his brother's. That time when…

Italy looked up at Germany with apprehension. Upon seeing his harsh glare and stern eyes, that he thought were directed at him, Italy stammered, "Umm…I'll go start my laps commander! Uh…Bye!" Italy raced away, determined to get as far away from Germany as possible, so he didn't have to see that look anymore. He was certain; Germany hated him. There was no other explanation.

As he ran, Italy let himself indulge in his tears. Small droplets of salty water flew behind him as he ran around the track. He was running at such a speed, that Germany lost sight of him in a split second. "ITALY! WAIT!" Germany yelled after him. Italy cut him off! He was going to apologize. He really was! Italy didn't give him a chance to explain. At least he started his training without any complaints; that was a change. Why was he suddenly doing everything right? Germany had no idea. Well, he would just have to wait until after training to apologize, seeing as Italy showed no sign of slowing down any time soon. He would just have to deal with Italy hating him for another hour. Germany felt his stomach twinge at the thought.

 _Why do I feel like this? He's just an ally, I shouldn't have these feelings; he doesn't mean anything to me. No, that's not true. He is my friend, and I…care for him. But why does the thought of Italy hating me feel like a punch to gut? It doesn't make any sense._ Sighing, Germany resorted to finishing his laps with these strange thoughts and feelings swirling through his head.

.oOo.

Italy ran with furious determination. He would finish his laps. He would be independent. He would get Germany to like him. He would make Germany proud. Italy's tears had long since dried, replaced by wild determination and a little bit of fear.

 _What if Germany never forgives me? What if Germany hates me forever? I won't have any friends. Nobody else wants me around. Not even my own brother. That's why I'm not at my house in Italy right now. He kicked me out, just because I kept interrupting him and Spain and I kept forgetting my paperwork. Now Germany does that for me._

Italy's curl drooped a bit more at that thought. _It's not like that's going to last for much longer. He probably won't do it anymore._

He tried to push himself out of his thoughts and resolved to finish his laps. Running with renewed vigor, Italy picked up the pace and flew through his last two laps. His adrenaline was pumping, so he didn't feel the extent of his exhaustion until he stopped running. The world spun around him and he stumbled, falling to the ground with a crash. The world turned black.

.oOo.

Germany was trailing behind Italy as he watched him run. His little arms were pumping furiously, and his curl was plastered to the side of his head. As Italy crossed the finish line, Germany could tell something was wrong. He saw Italy swaying, but couldn't get to him fast enough. Italy hit the ground hard.

"ITALY!" Germany sprinted over to him, pulling Italy into his arms. He was unconscious. His head lolled around as Germany rocked him back and forth, trying to get him to wake up. His attempts were fruitless, he wasn't waking up. Germany shook him harder.

"Italy! Please wake up!" His hands were shaking, and his stomach twisted painfully. What if he doesn't wake up? Germany clenched Italy's shirt in his fist, pulling him closer to his chest.

 _Why won't he wake up?! He is seriously injured? He has to be okay. He'll be okay. He's always okay._

.oOo.

Italy slowly opened his eyes, color and light flooding his vision. He felt a tight pressure on his hand and looked over. He was on Germany's couch. _How did I get here? I was just running laps a second ago…_ Italy looked down at his hand. It was being gripped tightly by Germany's larger one. Italy twitched in surprise, pulling his hand out of Germany's.

Germany's head shot up as Italy moved. He looked shaken. At what, Italy didn't know. Just like he didn't know why he was on the couch, or why Germany was with him. Italy stood up abruptly, and the world spun. He put a hand to his head and groaned in pain.

 _Oh…that's why._

Germany grabbed him by the shoulder to steady him, looking concerned. _Why is he looking at me like that? I know he doesn't care, so why is he pretending?_

"Italy, are you alright?" Germany asked quietly, still holding on to the unstable Italian. At those words, Italy seemed to tense. He pulled out of Germany's grip and peered at his shoes once again. His curl drooped again as he fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Ve, I-I'm fine." He whispered, looking over Germany's shoulder out the window. Germany didn't look convinced.

"Are you sure? You just fell out of nowhere. You probably pushed yourself too hard." Germany gently put his hand on Italy's shoulder; he didn't want to startle him. Italy still wouldn't look at him. Germany spoke again. "You shouldn't try to do things you know you can't do. Just try to stick to what you know you can do so you won't get hurt again." Apparently, this was not the right thing to say, because Italy shrugged Germany's hand off once again, looking upset.

"I said I'm fine, didn't I? And I meant it." Italy's face was blank, and for once, Germany couldn't tell what he was thinking. Suddenly, Italy perked up again. "V-Ve! I'll go make us some dinner, okay? And don't worry, I don't need any help, I p-promise that I'm okay." Italy turned around and rushed out of the room. Germany looked stunned. His face turned to one of frustration and sadness at the fact that he was prevented from apologizing to Italy once more. This was the third time! How much longer was this going to go on?

 _I just need to go in there and say it. I can't let him run away again. I need to tell him that I'm sorry. I don't understand these feelings, or why my heart feels like it's breaking whenever I think of what happened, but I need to tell him. Maybe it will make these feelings stop. Maybe I'll stop thinking about him when I'm supposed to be working, or when I'm trying to sleep or when I'm away from him. Maybe we can go back to being…_

 _Friends._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

*A/N I'm back again! And with the last update! Wow, what a ride. While it was short, it was still intense. I want to thank everyone for reading. I'm still considering a sequel, but I'll probably only write it if there is a request. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the last chapter!*

Italy kept his head down as he watched the water boil slowly. His mind was racing as he thought about everything that had happened that day. If only he hadn't run into Germany's office while he was working. If only he knew how to tie his shoes. If only he wasn't so stupid. Italy's amber eyes began to fill with tears, again. He sniffled, wiping his eyes furiously and willing himself not to cry. He didn't want to ruin anything else. He's already done that enough for one day. Noticing that the water was boiling fervently, Italy added the pasta, stirring slowly. The day's events kept replaying in his head. Germany's angry voice, his stern glare. The way he looked at Italy when he messed everything up. The way he spoke to him after training.

That was the one thing Italy didn't understand. Why was Germany acting like he wasn't mad? Why was he pretending to care? It already hurt bad enough, why did Germany have to rub it in? Like he was nothing. A single tear dripped from Italy's somber face into the water. Well, he already knew that, it just hurt to have someone "blatantly" point it out.

 _Germany…I'm sorry. Please forgive me. Even if you don't, just say it like it is. Don't mess around. It hurts more to see you like this, fake, not staying true to your feelings, than to have you hate me outright. Don't you understand? It's killing me._

More and more tears fell, dripping into the pot. Italy didn't even notice, he was too engrossed in his sorrow. He continued to cry, standing in front of the pot, numb to the rest of the world. It was only when the pot started to overflow that Italy snapped back to reality.

"My pasta." He said quietly. There was no energy in his voice. Hastily wiping the tears from his face, Italy turned off the stove. "I can't give this to Germany, it's ruined. Half of the water is tears; it'll be gross." Italy poured the pasta into the kitchen sink, a somber look on his face. "Now I have to start over. I'm making Germany wait, again." Fresh tears glistened in his eyes, but he wiped them away. He wouldn't cry again. He wouldn't make anything worse than it already was. He couldn't take it.

Italy added more water to the pot, placing it back on the stove. He was exhausted. This whole day was emotionally draining, and he needed a nap. Sighing, Italy resolved to finish the meal. Once the pasta was cooked, Italy grabbed two bowls out of the cupboard and began to set the table. He put a wine glass out for himself, along with a beer for Germany. He was starting to get nervous. But he couldn't stall any longer, dinner was ready, and the table was set.

 _How am I supposed to get through a whole meal without bursting into tears? I don't think I can do this._ Italy's hands were shaking. He needed to get this over with. He took a quivering breath and called out.

"Ve! Germany! Dinner's ready!" Italy could hear footsteps pounding down the stairs. His heart wouldn't stop racing. Germany's head peeked around the corner, apprehensively. Italy squealed and jumped about a foot in the air.

"Ah! You scared me!" Italy squeaked. Germany sighed.

"Sorry. But you were the one who called for me." Italy nodded and gestured to the table hesitantly.

"S-Sorry it took so long captain. I kind of messed up the first batch and I had to start over, and then I had to wait for the water to boil again and cook new pasta. I know you hate waiting. I'll do better next time." Italy's eyes dropped to the ground, and his whole body tensed.

 _Italy messing up pasta? What's wrong with him? Is this about earlier? He looks terrified; I have to fix this, now._

Germany sighed. "It's fine Italy. Are you sure you're okay? You've never messed up pasta before." But he knew that wasn't it. Italy was still upset. And he wasn't just angry, he looked scared.

 _He's been afraid of me before, but never like this. Never…for real._ He felt sick to his stomach. For some reason, he couldn't stand the thought of Italy being afraid of him. It's just not right. Germany never wanted to be the reason for his sorrow. Closing his eyes briefly, Germany resolved to eat dinner with the little Italian. He promised himself that he wouldn't leave this room until everything was sorted out. He couldn't take these confusing feelings any longer. Especially when he couldn't figure out what they were. Opening his eyes again, he was met with the handsome face of his…he didn't even know what he was anymore. Germany took a step back in surprise, almost tripping over a chair. Italy instantly averted his eyes, embarrassed and a bit scared at being caught staring.

"Ve, sit down Germany. I hope the food is alright." Italy pulled out Germany's chair for him and then scurried over to the other side of the table, quickly sitting down. Germany looked puzzled, but sat down anyway, picking up his fork. It was time. He had to apologize. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't. He opened his mouth…but nothing came out. His heart began to pick up speed.

 _Why can't I say_ _anything? It's not that hard!_ But Germany just sat there with his mouth hanging open, completely silent. When he realized what he was doing, he shut his mouth angrily, glaring at himself.

Italy spared a glance across the table when he thought Germany wasn't looking. When he looked up, he was met with a scowl, and his heart skipped a beat. He felt his throat close up and dropped his fork into his bowl. Germany shook himself out of his thoughts and looked at Italy inquisitively. He was looking at everything except Germany. His big brown eyes were open, for once, and they held the sheen of unshed tears. Germany felt his stomach clench unpleasantly. Italy started to tremble under his gaze.

 _Why does Germany keep looking at me like that? It makes me feel things I don't want to feel. Please, stop. Don't look at me. I'm not worth your time. Just leave me alone._

Italy gripped the table harshly. He was putting all of his strength into keeping his tears where they belong. Germany had a pained expression on his face; like he was trying to say something but couldn't find the right words. Now it was his turn to tremble. Germany's hands started shaking, and he had to put down his fork. Otherwise, it was destined for the ground.

"Uh…Ita…umm…" He murmured, looking over Italy's shoulder. He couldn't bring himself to meet Italy's watery eyes. When Italy didn't respond, Germany tried calling his name.

"Umm…Italy?" He asked, a little louder than before.

No response. He tried again.

"Italy?"

Still nothing. Germany was starting to panic.

"Italy!" Italy continued to inspect his pasta, not acknowledging Germany at all. It was like he couldn't even hear him. He was lost in his own painful world. And Germany knew. He knew the reason. And he was it. Germany's voice shook as he called out one last time.

"F-Feliciano?"

That did it. Italy's head shot up, his eyes wide. He looked Germany straight in the eye for the first time that day since the incident. He looked so small, so fragile. Like a light gust of wind could just carry him away. Like he could shatter at the slightest touch. Seeing him like this, Germany froze. How could he apologize now? Italy looked so broken, any word could destroy him further.

Surprisingly, Italy was first one to speak, "V-Ve. Is the pasta not good Germany? I knew it. I'll do better next time, I promise. I won't mess up again. I'm sorry. I know I'm weak and useless and stupid, but I thought I could do this right. I guess not." Despite his efforts, a single tear slid down his cheek, falling into his food with a splash. Germany was stunned. That was not what he was expecting at all. His food was always amazing. Why would he think otherwise? Germany's head was swimming with possibilities as he watched Italy sob into his food.

"N-Nein. It's not that at all. Your food is always delicious." Germany attempted a weak smile; one that was quickly wiped off his face at Italy's next words.

"No, it's not. You're just saying that to make me feel better. But I know what you really feel, you don't have to hide it anymore." Italy wiped his nose on his sleeve, much to Germany's disgust, although he didn't say anything.

 _He knows what I want to say? Then why is he still crying? Does it make him that upset that I still want to be around him?_

Germany didn't know what to say. He just sat there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. After a moment of tense silence, Germany spoke.

"That's not it at all! Stop beating yourself up. You're a good cook. And Italy…" He paused for a moment, gathering his courage. "I've been trying to tell you all day, but you keep running away before I get the chance. I wanted to a-apologize to you. For this morning. What I said was uncalled for and completely untrue. You aren't useless or stupid. I still want to be around you, but if you don't forgive me, I'll a-accept that, and you can leave. Just please know that I still want you around." Germany exhaled shakily. It was done. Now he just had to see what Italy would say. He closed his eyes out of anxiety, but they flew open when he heard a crash only a moment later.

Italy was standing, tears flowing from his eyes again. His chair was lying on the ground. Despite his tears, he looked…angry?

"Y-You don't get to say that!" He yelled. Germany was shocked. Italy had never raised his voice to him in all the years they'd known each other.

"Say what?" Germany asked, perplexed. All he said was that he was sorry. Why was Italy so upset? Unless it was because he didn't forgive him. Germany's stomach flipped. He felt like throwing up.

"Say that you're sorry!" He screamed. "You can't act like you still want to be friends when I know you hate me. It's not fair! You can't do this to me. Don't call me Feliciano like we're still okay."

Germany stuttered in horror. "Wha-?"

 _Italy thinks…that I hate him? That's not right at all. I could never hate him! I could never even dislike him. I don't think I could live without him by my side._

"I don't hate you Feli. I don't think I ever could. But if you feel that way, you can leave." Germany's sky-blue eyes were filled with unexpected sorrow as he looked at the man across from him.

Italy stopped crying. Tears tracks streaked down the sides of his face. He looked bewildered.

 _He doesn't hate me? Then why was he acting like that the whole day?_

"You…don't?" Italy asked.

"Nein. I'm incapable of hating you." Germany responded quietly.

"Ve. Then why did you say those things?"

"I told you. I was upset, and I wasn't thinking clearly. I didn't mean any of it, I p-promise." Germany said, shakily. He didn't want to break another promise. Internally, he vowed never to be the cause of Italy's pain again.

Italy averted his eyes again, still a bit somber, "A-Are you sure you don't want me to leave, Germany?" He questioned, his voice quivering.

"Of course not, Feli." His stomach untwisted itself. He felt so much lighter, knowing that Italy didn't resent him for what he said.

 _I don't know what I would do if he left. I don't think I could live with myself, knowing that I was the cause. If he left, I wouldn't get to see his bright smile; or be hugged or kissed by him every few minutes. He's my world._

Germany's eyes widened comically. _What am I thinking!?_ He scolded himself. _Feli's my world? What does that even mean? …Actually, that would explain a lot. It would explain why I can't stop thinking about him. He's basically useless in battle, but I wouldn't want anyone else by my side._

Italy was staring at him intensely. His bright amber eyes locked onto his blue ones. Germany felt a blush rise to his cheeks and he looked away, coughing into his hand. Italy smiled at him. It felt so nice to see his smile. He was beginning to think that he would never see it again.

 _I need to say something else. He keeps looking at me. In some ways, this is worse than when he refused to meet my eyes._

Germany's blushed deepened under Italy's gaze, and it started to spread down his neck. Italy giggled.

"Ve. Germany's face is all red!" Germany felt his whole body heat up. He cleared his throat, trying to get Italy's attention.

"U-Uh Feli?" He stammered.

"Ve, Luddy?" Italy asked, cocking his head. Germany's stomach fluttered at hearing Italy use his human name. He even gave him a nickname!

His heart was pounding, his hands trembling. He forced himself to look Italy in the eye, though he instantly regretted his decision. Italy's eyes were full of wonder and adoration; so much so that Germany had to look away. He began again.

"F-Feliciano, I could never hate you. In fact, it's just the opposite." Germany paused to regain his composure, as much as possible in his current state. He took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth.

"I-ich liebe dich Feliciano." He whispered, so quietly that Italy couldn't hear him.

"Ve? I didn't catch that." Italy said, confusion evident on his sun-kissed face. Germany cleared his throat again, nervously.

"Umm, i-ich liebe dich." He said, only getting slightly louder. Italy still looked puzzled.

"I still can't hear you Ludwig." He replied, urging him on. Germany was getting frustrated. He wasn't even being that quiet! Maybe Italy needs hearing aids.

 _I don't think I can say it again, or else I'm going to combust._

"Germany?" Italy inquired, watching Germany lose himself in his thoughts. "Ludwig?" At these words, Germany finally snapped.

"I SAID ICH LIEBE DICH!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, panting heavily.

"AHHHHHHH!" Italy jumped about five feet in the air, startled by the sudden volume. It took him a minute to register what Germany said. A look of realization dawned on his face. His eyes widened and began to water. Germany looked terrified.

 _Why is Italy crying?_ _Does he not understand? I shouldn't have said that. It's obvious he doesn't feel the same way._

Germany only had a second to look rejected before Italy screamed, "TI AMO LUDDY! TI AMO! TI AMO! TI AMO!" And he laughed, tackling Germany from across the table. Italy clutched him like a lifeline. Germany was in shock, his body stiffened.

"Y-You, you l-love me too?" He asked quietly. His mouth wide open. Italy snuggled into his shoulder.

"Of course I do! You are the kindest person I've ever met! You let me stay in your house, pet your dogs and eat your food. You tie my shoes for me and do my paperwork! You make sure that I'm not late and that I take care of myself. You even let me sleep in your bed! You have nice muscles too!" He exclaimed. Germany's blush returned as he listened to Italy ramble.

"D-Danke Feli." Germany murmured, pulling the small Italian closer to his chest. While Italy was rambling, to himself more than anybody, Germany pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Italy stopped talking abruptly, his cheeks flushing.

"V-Ve…" He muttered. "Germany never kisses me. What's the occasion?" He asked innocently. Germany chuckled at his words.

 _Italy really doesn't know what he's doing sometimes._

Germany pushed Italy out of his lap and pulled him upright. Italy cocked his head in confusion, his cheeks still slightly flushed. Germany tilted Italy's chin upwards. Now it was his turn to blush. A fiery red spread through his cheeks and down his neck. Even the tips of his ears were red.

He locked eyes with Italy, forcing himself to speak his mind.

"Pretty much you are." He said with a smile, claiming Italy's lips with his own.

It was an amazing feeling, to kiss someone you cherish. Germany was overcome with emotion, but he toughed it out, not wanting to ruin the moment. Italy's lips moved against his, slowly, but with love and passion. Germany grinned into Italy's mouth, kissing him back sweetly. After what felt like hours, but was really only seconds, they broke apart, panting. Italy looked up at Germany, breathing heavily, but bursting with happiness. Germany smiled again. He's smiled more in the span of fifteen minutes than he has in the last month.

Taking in the man before him, Germany started to laugh. Not a chuckle, but big booming laughter. Italy was taken aback. He'd never seen Germany really laugh before, but it was contagious. Italy giggled as he watched Germany laugh, but soon he started full-out laughing too, clutching his stomach and rolling on the floor. Neither of them could catch their breath.

It was a full ten minutes before either of them had enough air to speak. Germany sat back down on one of the kitchen chairs, and pulled Italy into his lap, small chuckles still occasionally escaping his lips. Italy smiled and nuzzled into Germany's shoulder. Germany sighed, and Italy picked his head up questioningly. Germany stroked his hair, whispering to him softly. Italy giggled again and buried his face in Germany's chest. Germany grinned incredulously, shaking his head in wonder.

 _How did I ever get this lucky?_


End file.
